Archive for the Painting Category

The Man Who Painted the Park

Posted in FILM, literature, Painting with tags , , , , , , , , , , , on October 14, 2014 by dcairns

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The death of production designer Assheton Gorton (last month, but I just recently learned of it) got me thinking about his unique contribution to sixties British cinema. Joe Massot’s WONDERWALL (1968), above, was an early sign of the new decadence, a film made almost entirely to spend the Beatles’ money before the taxman got it, which is not the noblest artistic purpose, but clearly everyone involved wanted to create something beautiful — more beautiful than a hospital ward or a torpedo bay (even a really nice one). And they succeeded.

I do get a ringing alarm bell in films about fantasy versus reality where the filmmakers can’t resist making the reality just as lovely and strange as the fantasy — MIRRORMASK, or THE CELL could be chosen as examples. WONDERWALL has this problem very badly — it plays a little like THE ZERO THEOREM, with its mundane protagonist twisted so far into eccentricity as to become insane and alienating, depriving us of our Dante or Virgil in the labyrinth. Some might argue that BRAZIL is oppressively fantastical too, but that’s the point for me — the reality is desaturated and bluish and oppressive and insistently real, and the fantasy can do its job effectively in such a context. If everything is fairytale, there’s no contrast, and movies love sharp contrasts.

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Whatever the opposite of an everyman protagonist is, Jack MacGowran is it. A kind of “no-man protagonist,” or “notagonist,” if you will. An actor whose quirks and accent and 24hr inebriation can make him fascinating at the same time as incomprehensible and utterly opaque. Apparently on KING LEAR he had no idea what he was saying. The trouble is, neither do I. Whereas, oddly, he seems to totally get Beckett, and makes me feel I do too.

Still, Gorton did a gorgeous job, though some shots are actually little more than beautiful actors in beautiful fabrics and patterns, beautifully lit, with not a wall or piece of furniture in sight.

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Obviously it was BLOW-UP, on which A.G. served as art director, that got him WONDERWALL. I suppose the job title is correct because Antonioni appears to have built no sets, but he transformed locations, painting a street various shades of gray, and even the people in it, so that David Hemmings’s skin becomes the only thing telling you the movie isn’t b&w. Elsewhere, colour is insistent and striking, though Antonioni still prefers a sort of metallic pastel palette, distinguishing his work from the screaming psychedelia that was beginning to explode in reality.

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Famously, Antonioni had Gorton paint a park, because the colours had changed since they location-scouted it and it no longer fitted the scheme. I couldn’t say for sure that the park looks different from a natural one, but I certainly FEEL it does — it seems flatter, more uniform and graphic.

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Aided by overcast English skies, the park becomes a gray-green silhouette — sure, the shrubbery has shadows and weight, but it doesn’t sem to have ENOUGH.

I always felt that, in scenes like the non-sequitur cross-talk purchase of a propeller from an antique shop, Antonioni was influenced by THE KNACK and its Ann Jellicoe-via-Charles Wood script, in which language becomes a kind of infestation, scrambling the characters’ brains and even pouring from their heads in the form of subtitles. Antonioni, working in an unfamiliar language, had the help of Edward Bond, but neither man is what you would call zany and so their attempts at a comedy of word soup floundering tends to fall rather painfully on its keys, but the very discomfort and flatness of it kind of suits the picture.

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In Jellicoe’s play, Tom, the Donal Donnelly character, repaints his room, stripping it of furniture and, I seem to recall, painting the shadows on the wall. And then he drives in a few nails so he can hang the chairs high off the floor. He doesn’t get that far in Richard Lester’s film, and he paints the room a featureless white, so that the various shapes look embossed, like MARIENBAD’s title sequence (Lester was a fan). Certianly Antonioni, who had been repainting reality in THE RED DESERT (1964), must have felt that Gorton was a kindred spirit. He just needed to THINK BIGGER.

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The Sunday Intertitle: A Nervous Nellie

Posted in FILM, Painting, Politics with tags , , , , , , , on October 5, 2014 by dcairns

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SECRETS OF THE NIGHT is a 1924 comedy-thriller from Herbert Blaché, whom I was predisposed to dislike. The husband of Alice Guy, he supposedly discouraged his wife from taking part in their joint business (“Don’t come to board meetings, it puts the fellows off and they don’t feel free to spit,” kind of thing) and then bankrupted them. I get the impression they separated but I’m not sure. Blaché stayed in the business a bit longer than his wife, making his last picture in 1929.

If you’re looking for things to be offended by in Blaché’s film, you don’t have far to go — there’s a comedy negro stereotype played by a white guy in blackface, for starters. This is quite a few years after BIRTH OF A NATION, and though of course I knew that Hollywood patronized black characters and treated them as the butt of jokes for decades to come, the use of burnt cork or whatever on an actor who is blatantly the wrong race DID rather surprise me. It suggests that the director hadn’t moved with the times. (“My dear fellow, in the 1920s we degrade real negroes!”)

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BUT — the film has comedy relief also from Zasu Pitts, and has elements of what would become a staple at this studio — Universal — the fright film. Zasu is introduced as a submissive reader, after Magritte, freaking out over Poe’s Murders in the Rue Morgue, although the sentence she reads is clearly a title-writer’s invention, and you couldn’t fill a hardback book with Poe’s short story anyway. Still, it’s nice to see the tale referenced in a film from the very studio that would adapt it in 1932.

We can easily play Zasu’s trademark “Oh de-earr-r!”  in our mental soundtrack.

 

The Art of Melies

Posted in FILM, Painting with tags , on September 16, 2014 by dcairns

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Three costume sketches by Georges Melies from the book French Elegance in the Cinema, which looks at the influence of French fashion and costume designers in film.

It’s a bit of a grab-bag — a lengthy gallery at the back uses slightly random images from the Cinematheque Francaise’s vast collection of costume sketches, many of which don’t have any obvious French connection, but all of which are interesting. The text pays particular attention to Jean-Louis and to designers like Schiaparelli and Givenchy who had a major influence on movie design.

I like costume sketches and production design sketches. Movies throw out all these items, from scripts to publicity stills, which are art forms in themselves while contributing to the greater whole.

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I’m dissatisfied with this scan, though. Scanners don’t seem to be able to handle the way books fold in the middle. You’d think that since the book predated the scanner, it’d be the scanner that’d have to adapt. I want a very thin sheet that I can just slot int between the leaves of the book, or else a kind of dry liquid I can spread on the illustration and then peel off, capturing a digital image in the mercury-like fluid. I’m sure Melies would agree.

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Something tells me this gay imp was meant to be played by old Georges himself.
French Elegance in the Cinema

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